FIC: Misdirected (RPS AU, Sean/Viggo, Sean/Bill, NC-17)
Misdirected (1/?)
Author: helens78 and telesilla
Fandom/Pairing: RPS AU, Sean Bean/Viggo Mortensen, Sean Bean/Bill Fichtner
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1440 +
Disclaimer: Not RL; didn't happen. If you think this has anything to do with the real actors involved, then you need to put down the crack pipe.
Summary: In a parallel world where people are divided into doms and subs as a matter of course, a dom named Sean is frustrated with being put into the "dom" category and a dom named Bill is frustrated with having one too many perfect subs in his life. This is a pair of intro pieces we did to get you settled in the world as we're picturing it.
Notes: At the bottom, this header got kind of long.
~*~*~
On the list of "good times to reevaluate your sexuality", Sean's pretty sure that "while you're fisting your partner" is near the bottom. Viggo's gone quiet, though, like he always does at times like this, and that gives Sean plenty of room to think.
This should be getting him off, and he knows it. He should be hard and ready to fuck, maybe even close to coming just from watching the way Viggo trembles and listening to the way he breathes.
It's taken him a long time to understand what he's feeling on nights like this one, but tonight he knows the word for it.
Jealousy.
He can barely imagine what it'd be like having someone else's hand up his ass. He's let his subs fuck him on occasion, of course; most tops do, and the ones who say they don't are either in denial or have severe self-esteem issues. But there's a big difference between a cock up his ass and someone pushing in three fingers, then four, while he moans and begs for it and tries to convince his body to relax.
But he's not the sub here. He's the top. All the tests have always come up reading "top", no matter how many times Sean's taken and re-taken them.
He shouldn't be jealous, but he is, and what gets him hard in the end isn't watching Viggo fall apart when he comes, or even holding Viggo close once he's eased his hand out of Viggo's body. It's rubbing up against Viggo's thigh and imagining he's being told to do this. Good boy. Now move your hand for me-- just a little-- just like that, boy. Get me off and do it right, and I'll let you come. God, yes, such a good boy. All right-- now climb up on me, that's it, and rub up. Good. Good boy. You can come now. You can--
He bites down on Viggo's shoulder and comes, eyes shut tight.
~*~
"You don't love me anymore." Viggo says it flatly, and that's how Sean knows it isn't a surprise.
"It isn't that. It was never that. Please--" Sean reaches out, and Viggo flinches away. "This just isn't working."
"How? How is this not working? Are you looking for someone who fights back? Because I can do that, Sean. I can do that if you need me to--"
"No," Sean snaps. "I'd never ask you to be anyone but yourself."
"Except that being myself isn't good enough."
This is not the time to say it's not you, it's me, so Sean doesn't. He swallows hard and picks up his suitcase. "I'm sorry," he tells Viggo. "I really am."
"Fuck you."
He doesn't ask for Viggo's collar back, but it arrives in the mail a week later along with divorce papers. After he's signed them and sent them back, he stuffs the collar into a box, one of those boxes he stores in the back of the closet and never opens up. It goes on top of the t-shirt Orlando gave him and gets tangled up with the collar he got back from Pierce-- he still thinks it looks like Pierce shoved it down a garbage disposal-- and seals the box back up with packing tape.
What he needs is a vacation. A nice long vacation, where no one he knows can call him, where all the people he runs into are people he'll never see again.
He digs through a different box for his passport and checks to see if it's still valid. It is, and he runs his thumb over the information on it, covering up the D under Orientation.
Just a letter. It's just one letter. People get forged passports all the time in the movies, and kids somehow manage to get forged driver's licenses so they can drink while they're still underage. Is it possible to get a passport where the only thing that's been changed is one little letter? How hard would it be to get one that has all the right information but says S instead of D?
The answer is: too hard. But a driver's license is no problem, and Sean has never been to Hawaii.
~*~*~
The problem with being fabulously wealthy and more than a little brilliant, Bill thinks as he steps out of the elevator and into the penthouse suite, is that eventually it becomes a prison. He's worth so damn much, his ability to be innovative with his and other people's money is worth so much, that he can never be without security. Corporate kidnappings happen, and he's never even bothered to tell his people never to negotiate for him if something should happen. For one thing, he's negotiated for people grabbed in Iraq, and back in the day, in Iran, and saying that he doesn't want the same treatment might have an impact on people's faith in him. For another thing, he doesn't believe in giving instructions that won't be followed.
Doesn't work any better in the boardroom than it does in the bedroom, he thinks, pouring himself a drink while Max goes over the rest of the suite. Never mind that the hotel's security and his own advance security had done the same thing; there's no way that Max will take anyone's word for it.
"All clear, Mr. Fichtner."
"Thank you, Max. Good night."
"'Night, Sir," Max says, letting himself out.
It's late and Bill looks out over the water, watching the lights from the resort reflect back at him. Sighing, he finishes his drink, letting his eyes focus on the glass instead of the view. More and more lately, he's coming to the conclusion that he'd rather be alone than have one more perfect sub kneeling next to him. He's tried, he really has, but the fact is that he's been bored with his last three lovers. All of them came to him with impeccable references and supposedly matched his test scores in all the right ways. Both boys were gorgeous and the girl was breathtakingly beautiful, and each time, within a month or so, Bill was bored out of his mind.
I've become such a fucking cliche, he thinks, grateful that his normal escort isn't here to commiserate with him. He adores Eva in an utterly Platonic way; while she's beautiful enough to tempt any man, and is a sub who knows how to look good in public and act like a complete whore in private, she's also as gay as gay can be, a true ten on the Gender Preference Scale. They suit each other very much in public, and even get along well in private.
At first it had been awkward because she'd felt as if she were letting him down in some way because she wasn't turned on by him, but once they'd gotten over that, she'd proved capable of carrying on an intelligent conversation while serving him just enough that her submissive needs were met. Aside from the fact that she's simply too sympathetic, they have it pretty good.
I should just marry her, and let her continue her discreet thing with Carrie-Anne, he thinks. Perfection isn't bad in a wife; it's just inhuman in a lover.
He'd bitched about it once to Carrie-Anne, late one night when they were in the middle of something big and more than a little high on no sleep and too much coffee.
"Get someone who fights back," she'd said.
"I don't want someone who fights back. I want someone who isn't so...fucking trained. I'd love to just go into a bar and pick up someone who doesn't know ten different ways to kneel and fifteen ways to take my shoes off. And who isn't young enough that I feel like a goddamn pedophile."
"Poor you," she'd said. "Can't you send Max to a bar?"
"Are you fucking kidding? Max and the rest of the team won't let anyone near me who isn't vetted six ways from Sunday." He'd shaken his head. "Last time I tried to pick someone up, it turned out the guy had a cousin who'd been busted for possession. I'd just gotten my fists in his hair when Max called and said that he was a security risk." Bill had rubbed at his neck, and sighed a little sheepishly. "Sometimes I think I'm just Max's bitch."
She'd rolled her eyes at that--everyone who knew anything about Bill knew that he was a ten on the Dominant Scale--and tactfully changed the subject.
"I've got to get out of here," he says to his reflection. "There's got to be some way I can meet someone...different. Someone right."
-end-
Notes: You may have heard of helenish's excellent fic Take Clothes Off As Directed (SGA, John/Rodney, NC-17, kink). The world in TCOAD is divided into doms and subs, with subs getting much the same treatment as women did in the '40s and '50s here in the real world. The universe interested us enough that we thought it'd be fun to see what happens to some of our most familiar muses if they were in a world like that; while our focus is less on drawing parallels between subs and women and more on the questions of what happens when one's sexuality falls outside established norms, the inspiration is still pretty clear. We tip our hats to helenish and urge you to read TCOAD, even if you're not in SGA fandom (we aren't!).
Author: helens78 and telesilla
Fandom/Pairing: RPS AU, Sean Bean/Viggo Mortensen, Sean Bean/Bill Fichtner
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1440 +
Disclaimer: Not RL; didn't happen. If you think this has anything to do with the real actors involved, then you need to put down the crack pipe.
Summary: In a parallel world where people are divided into doms and subs as a matter of course, a dom named Sean is frustrated with being put into the "dom" category and a dom named Bill is frustrated with having one too many perfect subs in his life. This is a pair of intro pieces we did to get you settled in the world as we're picturing it.
Notes: At the bottom, this header got kind of long.
~*~*~
On the list of "good times to reevaluate your sexuality", Sean's pretty sure that "while you're fisting your partner" is near the bottom. Viggo's gone quiet, though, like he always does at times like this, and that gives Sean plenty of room to think.
This should be getting him off, and he knows it. He should be hard and ready to fuck, maybe even close to coming just from watching the way Viggo trembles and listening to the way he breathes.
It's taken him a long time to understand what he's feeling on nights like this one, but tonight he knows the word for it.
Jealousy.
He can barely imagine what it'd be like having someone else's hand up his ass. He's let his subs fuck him on occasion, of course; most tops do, and the ones who say they don't are either in denial or have severe self-esteem issues. But there's a big difference between a cock up his ass and someone pushing in three fingers, then four, while he moans and begs for it and tries to convince his body to relax.
But he's not the sub here. He's the top. All the tests have always come up reading "top", no matter how many times Sean's taken and re-taken them.
He shouldn't be jealous, but he is, and what gets him hard in the end isn't watching Viggo fall apart when he comes, or even holding Viggo close once he's eased his hand out of Viggo's body. It's rubbing up against Viggo's thigh and imagining he's being told to do this. Good boy. Now move your hand for me-- just a little-- just like that, boy. Get me off and do it right, and I'll let you come. God, yes, such a good boy. All right-- now climb up on me, that's it, and rub up. Good. Good boy. You can come now. You can--
He bites down on Viggo's shoulder and comes, eyes shut tight.
~*~
"You don't love me anymore." Viggo says it flatly, and that's how Sean knows it isn't a surprise.
"It isn't that. It was never that. Please--" Sean reaches out, and Viggo flinches away. "This just isn't working."
"How? How is this not working? Are you looking for someone who fights back? Because I can do that, Sean. I can do that if you need me to--"
"No," Sean snaps. "I'd never ask you to be anyone but yourself."
"Except that being myself isn't good enough."
This is not the time to say it's not you, it's me, so Sean doesn't. He swallows hard and picks up his suitcase. "I'm sorry," he tells Viggo. "I really am."
"Fuck you."
He doesn't ask for Viggo's collar back, but it arrives in the mail a week later along with divorce papers. After he's signed them and sent them back, he stuffs the collar into a box, one of those boxes he stores in the back of the closet and never opens up. It goes on top of the t-shirt Orlando gave him and gets tangled up with the collar he got back from Pierce-- he still thinks it looks like Pierce shoved it down a garbage disposal-- and seals the box back up with packing tape.
What he needs is a vacation. A nice long vacation, where no one he knows can call him, where all the people he runs into are people he'll never see again.
He digs through a different box for his passport and checks to see if it's still valid. It is, and he runs his thumb over the information on it, covering up the D under Orientation.
Just a letter. It's just one letter. People get forged passports all the time in the movies, and kids somehow manage to get forged driver's licenses so they can drink while they're still underage. Is it possible to get a passport where the only thing that's been changed is one little letter? How hard would it be to get one that has all the right information but says S instead of D?
The answer is: too hard. But a driver's license is no problem, and Sean has never been to Hawaii.
~*~*~
The problem with being fabulously wealthy and more than a little brilliant, Bill thinks as he steps out of the elevator and into the penthouse suite, is that eventually it becomes a prison. He's worth so damn much, his ability to be innovative with his and other people's money is worth so much, that he can never be without security. Corporate kidnappings happen, and he's never even bothered to tell his people never to negotiate for him if something should happen. For one thing, he's negotiated for people grabbed in Iraq, and back in the day, in Iran, and saying that he doesn't want the same treatment might have an impact on people's faith in him. For another thing, he doesn't believe in giving instructions that won't be followed.
Doesn't work any better in the boardroom than it does in the bedroom, he thinks, pouring himself a drink while Max goes over the rest of the suite. Never mind that the hotel's security and his own advance security had done the same thing; there's no way that Max will take anyone's word for it.
"All clear, Mr. Fichtner."
"Thank you, Max. Good night."
"'Night, Sir," Max says, letting himself out.
It's late and Bill looks out over the water, watching the lights from the resort reflect back at him. Sighing, he finishes his drink, letting his eyes focus on the glass instead of the view. More and more lately, he's coming to the conclusion that he'd rather be alone than have one more perfect sub kneeling next to him. He's tried, he really has, but the fact is that he's been bored with his last three lovers. All of them came to him with impeccable references and supposedly matched his test scores in all the right ways. Both boys were gorgeous and the girl was breathtakingly beautiful, and each time, within a month or so, Bill was bored out of his mind.
I've become such a fucking cliche, he thinks, grateful that his normal escort isn't here to commiserate with him. He adores Eva in an utterly Platonic way; while she's beautiful enough to tempt any man, and is a sub who knows how to look good in public and act like a complete whore in private, she's also as gay as gay can be, a true ten on the Gender Preference Scale. They suit each other very much in public, and even get along well in private.
At first it had been awkward because she'd felt as if she were letting him down in some way because she wasn't turned on by him, but once they'd gotten over that, she'd proved capable of carrying on an intelligent conversation while serving him just enough that her submissive needs were met. Aside from the fact that she's simply too sympathetic, they have it pretty good.
I should just marry her, and let her continue her discreet thing with Carrie-Anne, he thinks. Perfection isn't bad in a wife; it's just inhuman in a lover.
He'd bitched about it once to Carrie-Anne, late one night when they were in the middle of something big and more than a little high on no sleep and too much coffee.
"Get someone who fights back," she'd said.
"I don't want someone who fights back. I want someone who isn't so...fucking trained. I'd love to just go into a bar and pick up someone who doesn't know ten different ways to kneel and fifteen ways to take my shoes off. And who isn't young enough that I feel like a goddamn pedophile."
"Poor you," she'd said. "Can't you send Max to a bar?"
"Are you fucking kidding? Max and the rest of the team won't let anyone near me who isn't vetted six ways from Sunday." He'd shaken his head. "Last time I tried to pick someone up, it turned out the guy had a cousin who'd been busted for possession. I'd just gotten my fists in his hair when Max called and said that he was a security risk." Bill had rubbed at his neck, and sighed a little sheepishly. "Sometimes I think I'm just Max's bitch."
She'd rolled her eyes at that--everyone who knew anything about Bill knew that he was a ten on the Dominant Scale--and tactfully changed the subject.
"I've got to get out of here," he says to his reflection. "There's got to be some way I can meet someone...different. Someone right."
-end-
Notes: You may have heard of helenish's excellent fic Take Clothes Off As Directed (SGA, John/Rodney, NC-17, kink). The world in TCOAD is divided into doms and subs, with subs getting much the same treatment as women did in the '40s and '50s here in the real world. The universe interested us enough that we thought it'd be fun to see what happens to some of our most familiar muses if they were in a world like that; while our focus is less on drawing parallels between subs and women and more on the questions of what happens when one's sexuality falls outside established norms, the inspiration is still pretty clear. We tip our hats to helenish and urge you to read TCOAD, even if you're not in SGA fandom (we aren't!).